No Thoughts, Just Feelings

So I guess I need to write a follow up to this post.  As you can tell from my lack of enthusiasm, a cute little photo-reveal and general poopy attitude towards everything baby,

Clomid Chronicles

Not sure how to start this installment of the Clomid Chronicles.  I mean it was a stellar 45 days with so much to tell.  So let’s just start from the beginning.  We upped the dosage, again.  I was taking a small child’s handful of pills every morning.  Then a wave of germs hit our house turning our lives on the side for a few weeks.  I ended up with a cold, Juanito with some “stomach issues” and The Boy had both.  We were all a mess.  I took a lot of ibuprofen to handle the aches and pains of a cold.  Only to find out that it would mask any ovulation indication on my temperature chart.  Oh, good to know.  When I went into the doctor they checked my CM and said that per that I did ovulate.  I didn’t get too excited because they said that last time.  Then they did the blood work.  When they called back the next day I was told that my blood work did not show that I ovulated but come in again.  They think I might have ovulated late.  Again, same routine as last month.

When I was feeling better I quit taking the ibuprofen and after a few days my chart indicated ovulation, but way after time intercourse or also know as DTD, or baby making time or happy fun time.  So I was already thinking that yes I did ovulate and hoping we did it close enough to whatever that timeframe would be.  The blood work came back AFTER the Thanksgiving weekend, which was no fun waiting, but it confirmed that I did ovulate.  I was officially in the 2WW (two week wait) to see if I would start a period or be pregnant.  Everything was positive.  I had sore boobs, I had the right kinda CM, and my temperature remained elevated and most important I passed the date that I should have started a period without starting one.  I WAS LATE!  I hatched a plan on how to tell my family at Christmas.  But I was afraid that I was wrong.  I was afraid that I had all this hope, bigger and brighter than ever, and that the test would be negative.  I didn’t want to test. I didn't want to even buy tests.  I was gun shy.  You see it’s like I divide in half during the 2WW.  I have this hope and I carry it in my heart.  I think if I care and nurture this hope it will somehow cosmically make me pregnant.  But the other half of me is the stoic, sensible side that says don’t over think this and wait until its confirmed.  Go on about your business.  Nothing to see here. 

Finally Sunday morning I tested (Juanito bought tests for me).  I left the test on the side of the bath tub and made Juanito go in and read it.  He came back into the bedroom and shook his head no.  The Hope Side told my head that since I ovulated late then it’s too early.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.  Do it again in a few days!  So I did and still negative, no matter how many times I looked at it.  So a few days later when I still hadn’t started my period I called the doctor.  They wanted me to wait before taking the Provera (the regular protocol).  Ironically that night I started my period.  I woke up in the middle of the night with stabbing cramps.  It was a delightful little present.   

We contemplated taking a break because its been an emotional few months.  Juanito said he wanted to continue because we’re getting closer, but that it wasn’t his body going through it.  I love him for listening to me when I rant and cry about all of this and for retaining the more important points.  When the dust settled I decided that we are getting closer and this stupid PCOS isn’t gonna tell when and where (even though it really does).  I’m not stopping because of a bunch of crying.  So here we go round four.  Lucky Round Number Four. 

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

I woke up this morning and my temperature has not changed. I am on round three of Clomid at CD 17 and nothing has happened. I am sad. I am down. I am lost. I am afraid.

In the beginning of this cycle I really thought that this was the dose. This was the one that was going to make it happen. I’m pretty sure this was the dosage we got to before, right? But I’ve had this overwhelming feeling that this is not working. This is not the time. My heart is heavy and don’t know how to reconcile these feelings.

The first time we tried we didn’t know what was going to happen. So we took our hits and came back for more, none the wiser. This time we know that it can work. We know what it’s like to be pregnant and have a baby. We know all about it and desperately want it again, in spite of all the current craziness.

And nothing else seems to be going right. The Boy is fighting everything because his world is constantly changing. I feel guilty and uneasy about all the changes we’ve made. I feel unsettled in my job. I can’t seem to find stable ground anywhere and when I do, it’s not for every long.

I posted the other day in a chat room of other PCOS moms who are TTCing. I commented that I wish there was a magic 8 Ball to tell me when it would happen. Like if I could shake an OPK and it would tell me everything. When I would ovulate. When I would conceive. What do I need to do differently.

Unfortunately, that’s not an option. What’s the old saying, hope in one hand and shit in another and see which one fills up faster? Well if the recent bought of diarrhea in our house is any indication.....

Round One – A Recap

So we completed our first round of Clomid. That was back in August. I hemmed and hawed about writing in the midst of it all but decided to hold out. There were some revelations that I think need time to percolate and distance to digest. I want to document this process but I don’t want it to be all doom and gloom and hormones, which in the moment it can be. Apparently.

To start with there are a lot of things that I forgot. There was a reason I forgot them too because they suck. For example it was the second (maybe the third) day of the pill, which by the way is so super small it’s hard to wrap my mind around how we are putting our hopes and dreams into something that I could easily drop down the sink, but I digress. I got into bed that night while Juanito was reading and I threw my limbs about the bed, kicking off covers and loudly complaining that it was so damn hot. Yes, it is Phoenix and it was August but good God! I felt like I was on fire. Melting from the inside out. Juanito very nonchalantly mentioned that I was on the drugs. And then it dawned on me, he was right. Clomid has a way of sky rocketing my body temperature making me feel like I’m boiling, slowly. I’m a hot-blooded person by nature coupled with living in the Valley of the Sun Stroke which means air conditioning and me are like the sorority sisters I never had with a secret handshake and everything. So when you throw in some Clomid I’m a four alarm fire of whining. Juanito offered to bring a fan into the room that would be directly on me, which is what we did when I was pregnant. I declined because it would throw my temps. Which brings me to my next complaint.

I hate taking my temperature every day the exact same way. I hate that if I move too much in the morning to try and get my thermometer that it will affect my temps. I hate that if I forget to take my temp and instead focus on my screaming bladder of screaming son then my chart is all off. It seems so simple and even petty when I’m writing this but truly and honestly I forgot about the temperature tether.

Oh, I tried OPKs this time around. (OPKs = ovulation predictor kits) They never worked for me the first time around but I thought hey, I’ve got some under the sink why not. I also found my Satin Hands kit from Mary Kay under there and might do a little Satin Hands treatment on my feet. Maybe even Cass’ feet. And while I know that they don’t work for me (OPKs not Satin Hands), I was still sad to pee on a stick (POS) and get a negative. For anything. It was disheartening to not see a double line.

I never got a positive-OPKs. I never got a temperature spike on my chart. I never got a positive home pregnancy test. I never ovulated during my first round. I wasn’t expecting too much because logically I know my body. But I did have a lot of hope going into this. Hope that I need to bottle for the forthcoming rounds. I did get to go see the doctor mid-cycle for him to ensure that I did not develop cysts (which I didn’t) and they checked my hormone level to see if I was even close to ovulating (which I wasn’t). They will up my dosage for the next round.

I’m a little sad. I’m a little less excited. I think we started this time around thinking well we did it before we can do it again. I guess we forgot to tell my ovaries. The value of hindsight, ya, I’m still waiting for that. I know that we are doing everything we can to make this happen. I know that in time it will happen. I find myself wondering if this is what my family is supposed to be and to be happy with what is in front of me. I need to remember to not settle for what I have but believe that there is more to our family.

The power of hindsight

Yep, I am sharing yet another lovely snippet of sweet, sweet fertility memories. This time it’s my turn! I honestly forgot that this happened which is strange due to the enormity and weight of the situation, at that time. I guess I glossed over a lot of the bad stuff in light of the good outcome.

My good outcome. 

When you first realize that you have a fertility issue it’s like your whole world gasps in shock and never exhales until you're ready to do something about it. For me it meant starting to try for a baby. (Others' exhalation might come from another event, it’s a crap shoot.) After determining what Juanito was bringing to the party I had to undergo some invasion testing. More invasive than the inter-uterine ultrasound where they shove a dildo on a cord into your hooha and look and around and don’t have the common courtesy to show you around your own damn babycave!

I digress.

When it was decided that I would have this procedure mind you I was knee deep in a support group online of lovely ladies who walked me through every appointment, procedure and “what if” I could throw at them. I am forever in their debt. When I was scheduled for a hysterosalpingography (say that ten times fast!) these girls told me that an HSG is a common procedure in an infertility work up. Basically they flip you over, fill your uterus up with contrast dye like the cup that it is, lay ya down on a table, put an x-ray over your nether region and watch where the dye spills out to, preferably from you uterus to your fallopian tubes to your ovaries. Not on to the table. Basically making sure that your plumbing is intact and not clogged. Here is where WebMD started to fuck with my mind beforehand. So much of what I was reading talked about blocked tubes. I was nervous to say the least. (I admit I logically assumed that Drano would be part of the treatment plan. That or one of those metal snake thingies.  I'm very logical that way.)

I could not stop thinking about what it would mean if they were blocked. More money, more procedures, more time. My employer at the time was unaware of what we were dealing with (at that time and perhaps that’s another story) and was beyond reluctant to give me time off.

When the HSG was actually performed Juanito went with me. I wasn’t as scared of the procedure itself but more of the outcome. The appointment was at an office I hadn’t been at and while it was bright and clean and the staff was nice, not knowing my surrounding area heightened my nervous soul. We were taken back to a little room that was more like a dressing room than a doctor’s exam room which was because it was a dressing room. They had me change into a gown and go into a very cold room where the lights were dim and a huge metal machine dominated the room. Most importantly; Juanito was not allowed to go into the room with me. I had to do this on my own. Hold my own hand.

When the technician asked me to get on the HUGE table I had to use a step stool and then position myself on this metal plate, spread eagle and have her fill‘er up. (Ok, they don’t really flip you over and fill you up but it’s very gas station-y.) I asked to see the screen like I had some medical background and knew what was going on. I watched my uterus on TV. It was a proud moment. I saw the dye. I saw it move about in my lady parts and then it looked like it just flooded out into nothing.

I don’t remember much about the ending of the procedure. Except for: 1. I don’t know what fluid in my uterus is supposed to do so I was still scared. 2. Later found out that the contrast spilling out of my cooter did not have a color. (too much information? Sorry I warned you.)

Ultimately there was no problem with the plumbing. I think one tube spilled slower than the other or something like that but ultimately we didn’t have that as another card in our hand. We only had one. Me. I needed to ovulate. (oh wait I still do!)  Thinking back to 6th grade when all the girls went into Mrs. Jonas’ class room…that part is key to this whole shabang.

Him....

When I was diagnosed with PCOS and we decided we wanted to have a baby, my doctor wanted Juanito tested as well. Basically they wanted to know what cards we were holding in this whole fertility game. We ladies have our issues and for some there is what they lovingly refer to as “male-factor”, which could really mean a variety of things. So this test became what we called a “spunk-in-the-cup-test.” We don’t mince words around our house. A spade is a spade. So Juanito took his cup, did his thing one day while I was at work, and drove it to the lab. There was no comical room with a TV and buffet of porn. He got to use his own porn.

Anyways, when the lab results came back a nurse from my doctor called and explained that the results needed to be read by an urologist. That struck me as strange since they never mentioned this when they gave me the order. Nonetheless, they recommended one and we had an appointment which we planned to go to together.

Let me say that until that time I had never attended a medical anything with Juanito. He had been through some scary shit with me but I was never the one sitting in the chair off to the side. A spectator without control. So the doctor came in and he was dressed in blue scrubs, he was youngish, Asian and very professional. He started off by doing a physical exam. First let’s recap that we were at an UROLOGIST. Second I guess going into this appointment I wasn’t really sure what we were doing there or why we were there.  I really just focused on what the test results were. I was completely unprepared when Juanito had to drop trou and the seemingly nice doctor fondled my husband’s junk. In front of me. I was not prepared to keep a straight face and definitely not prepared to NOT fall apart into giggles. I was not prepared for the struggled between my inner 13 year old versus the adult woman who still (to this day) giggles if Juanito has on no boxers and a tee shirt because his little butt cheeks make me giggle. I know that my face had to have been lit up like a lobster. But to make matters worse, Juanito made eye contact. I remember jerking my eyes away and mentally pleading not to look at me and don’t make me look at you. I will just stare at this ceiling and you will remain to be the same person I have always known.  Not the man who was medically molested.

We both survived the exam, barely. Then we sat and had a conversation with the doctor, after he groped my husband. His first few questions were benign but then he threw a curve ball. “Have you ever been around toxic chemicals?”  Um…uh…Juanito?

No. But I mentally stumbled and couldn’t keep up with the questions and where this line of questioning was going. He had to have seen the confusion through our glazed-over stares and perhaps the drooling. So this is what I understood from the bits of speech that I could remember. Mobility, count, liquidification and morphology. Heads. Tails. 1 in 10. And a crude drawing.

Later, after talking, discussing, reading WedMD and other web sites this is what we surmised: Morphology describes the physical shape of each sperm and one in ten of Juanito’s men were perfect. The other nine either had no head or no tail.  Do you know what that means!?  Ninety percent of his spunk had no idea where they were going (no head) or they couldn’t get there if they did (no tail). Its like the blind leading the paraplegics in there!

All the other factors of the sperm; quantity, mobility, liquidification had some resolution.  Morphology meant the factory was broken (the doctor's terms).  Few solutions, big ticket price.  This now meant we had a male-factor. Indulge my emotional side.  This was shattering to  me at the time.  I didn't even know that I wanted kids until I found out that I might not be able to because I possibly had cancer.  Then to get the blow that you don't have cancer but you do have something that makes getting pregnant extremely difficult to then be hit with this??  You start to think that you can't handle it all.  This was not how it was suppose to be. 

After a bit of a mourning period, I read whatever I could get my hands on to see if there was a way to correct this. We reasoned that it didn't matter that nine out of ten didn't work because I wasn't shooting off an egg.  If I could just fire off an egg we only needed one sperm...not ten!  I found vitamins. I purchased a couple of bottles of vitamins for him to take to improve the function, shape and quantity. But he couldn’t remember to take them every morning. Mind you I was taking up to 14 pills a day and he couldn’t remember to take 2 pills. I also found some potential surgeries you can have to improve the morphology.

Around this same time, Juanito decided to see a doctor about persistent pain in, the well, um, his balls. His balls hurt. (Sorry Juanito for sharing all of this…) Come to find out he had a deep venous thrombosis (DVT). Google it to see what that is. Basically, in my laymen terms, his balls were bruised, on the inside. Now I can’t remember how we came to conclusion, if it was medically assisted or we just thought it was funny but we believe that the DVT was caused by vigorous sex. Now the surgery that might alleviate the discomfort for the DVT had a possibility of fixing the morph problem too. So surgery was scheduled, but with a different doctor.



I marked his leg not his balls.

  It was to be outpatient and I took the day off to tend to my husband’s balls. We got to the hospital and got all checked in (after a painful appointment with the administration who took a couple of thousands out of our checking account to do this procedure). The nurses got him all set up. I got to mark which side the surgery was to be performed on to avoid any mistakes. The anesthesiologist came in and checked him out. We were all ready, just waiting on the doctor. When the doctor came in it was again someone who Juanito had not seen before. He came in to the curtained off room, sat down and starting telling us how he has been reviewing the chart and feels that this surgery is not necessary.  Sorry for the inconvenience, please go home. Ok, it wasn't that abrupt but it was surprising like a slap with a frozen fish.  I was pissed and confused. We left (after getting a refund) and went for breakfast since Juanito had been fasting. It was beyond anti-climactic.  It wan void. It was as if the path that this surgery opened up for us was closed once again.  No new options.    

Ultimately, the new doctor felt that there hadn’t been enough testing of the sperm to warrant the surgery and the DVT should resolve itself over time. Subsequent spunk-in-a-cup-tests revealed that there was no male-factor just poor handling of the first test. The new doctor questioned why the first doctor (the nice Asian guy) didn’t order additional testing after getting such extreme numbers the first time. So lesson learned, question everything. Educate yourself when facing fertility so that you’re not sitting in a doctor’s office, dumbfounded, glazed look, and drooling or make sure you ask enough questions so you don’t leave the office looking that way. Our road took many turns but ultimately still lead up to this….

This is the actual test I took when I found out I was pregnant. 
Juanito was out of town and the dogs couldn't tell if it was positive or not. 

At the Beginning of the Road

As we look down the conception path again I am reminded of different things that we experienced the first time. The diagnosis.  The testing.  The not knowing. And that was before fertility.  I know that I mentioned before that I wouldn’t recap what happened before when we became pregnant with The Boy. But I feel this compulsion to share these snippets of memories. Perhaps its more just to document what happened for me.  For The Boy and his future siblings.  This is our story, in hindsight, and going forward is our history in the making.

This might get graphic....

It’s a Bloody Celebration!

For those who don’t know, PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) can fuck with your system in number of ways. It can: A. Make your periods be all too frequent, painful and require major surgery to control; B. Make your period completely disappear which will require drugs on a monthly or quarterly basis (depending on your doctor’s preference) so that you don’t develop cancer; or C. go for years undetected and have no bearing on your life whatsoever.

I role with Option B. I didn’t start out at 13 years old this way but somewhere around 20 years old when my gyno nurse practitioner didn’t laugh when I told her that I was regular with the dog, I started the pill. The pill was supposed to regulate my system (which I don’t necessarily agree with and would argue for different verbiage since its misleading). But less than ten years later (I was 27 years old) the pill stopped even doing that. I started at that time either not having, or honestly not really even caring, that I had a period. Then when I started to care I would call the doctor and get 10 itty bitty little pills that I took to induce a period. My friend Provera. So every few months I would take Provera and ten days later I would have a period. Then when we started trying to have a baby I started temping. After a few months of watching my temp erratically spike and crash I would call the doctor me and Provera would kick it for 10 days and *poof* a period. When the fertility drugs finally worked and I ovulated (those two times) I knew when the period was coming. Even after my son I went back on the pill (as a precautionary) and have been doing the Temp/Provera dance for the past year. For the past seven years (almost I guess I should say) I have be in control of when my period starts. It has never happened without some sort of outside force. This means there is no surprise package from Mother Nature on my vacation like the Tampon commercials. I don’t secretly communicate to friends that Aunt Flow is in town and even the dogs know when “The Playground is Closed.” I am a mini-God in my pelvic region.

So imagine my surprise (and bear with me as it might get gross) when I get out of bed this morning and stumble to the bathroom to pee and find blood soaked toilet paper. Honestly after so much time of being in control of it my first thought was “I’m dying, there has been a massacre in my crotch and I’m dying.” Like a Spanish Inquisition, no one expects a period.

On my drive into work I called Juanito who was shocked as well, which only goes to show how my nether regions are common conversation with us. He congratulated me on being normal, which is also a testament to how much my husband listens to me. So today we’re celebrating being normal. I’m not sure what being normal means. Sitting in the McDonald’s drive through? Eating dinner with your family? Planning a much need vacation? Watching Big Bang Theory reruns? Whatever it is to you, today I say go do it and enjoy it. It’s good to be normal every now and then.

Here we go again on our own.....

Pardon me we saw Rock Star over the weekend and the ballads are still racing through my brain. 

My PAP is scheduled for Thursday. Too much too soon? Well none the less, my annual is due in June. Last year at this time I asked to go off of birth control and to start charting. It's a year later and I have yet to ovulate. I have had four periods all chemically induced. I attempted to be normal and it did not happen. So I want to talk to the doctor about getting his blessing for starting on the fertility road. 

Insurance with the new company is a little strange. I have never had this insurance and not too sure how it all works. Found out that my therapist is obviously not a fan of them. So I called the customer service line, which I’ve spoken to as much as I’ve spoken to any other insurance company during the totality of my enrollment. I digress…..

So the dingbat at customer service yesterday, and yes I did clarify yesterday to differentiate between the other dingbats I’ve spoken to in the past, told me the following:

1. My OB/GYN who I’ve been with since my son is not in the network and

2. I must pay all costs up front until my deductible is met and when its outside of the network then my deductible is $2500.

Tears immediately sprung into my eyes and I choked back tears and told her that this was shitty coverage and hung up. I never claimed to be an adult.


Thankfully it was the end of the day so I quickly shut down my computer and dashed out of the office to call Juanito and fall apart. While I cried, I drove through the watery blur of traffic and blubbered to my husband.

I don’t want to leave my doctor or that office. They have a lab and ultra sound in the office and I have spent so much time with Tamika the lab tech between the blood glucose during pregnancy and the diabetic screening that I feel like she is an old friend. The nurse practitioner is a fellow cyster so when she gives me tough love I know that it’s coming from a genuine, educated place and not a place of judgment. After having The Boy I went to a few appointments for either incision checks or just routine postpartum. One time the baby was crying so hard and I was naked from the waist down and my doctor wanted to talk to discuss how things were going (aka how are the baby blues) so he just took him out of his carrier and gave him a bottle right there so we could talk. What other doctor takes such care? Another time the nurse carried The Boy around and showed him off to the office so that I could get my appointment over with. These people are not just medical staff with a smile. They are people who understand, have been there and are on the other side encouraging you to walk the trail. I can also say that the other doctors in the practice have delivered friends’ babies. I love that community and camaraderie. I don’t want to have to leave and find a new doctor.  And hope to God that I’m comfortable with that new person. Fertility and PCOS are sensitive issues and I’ve had bad experiences. I don’t want some asshat telling me that I just need to lose weight and then I’ll be fine. I want this office.

As I was driving home last night breaking down all of this for Juanito he is saying all the right things to make me feel better. Not that they are true or plausible but they soothed my breaking heart. And it’s not just because I can’t go to this office that breaks my heart. It’s because I am so paranoid/afraid/anxious/fearful/jinxed that we won’t be able to do it again. That The Boy will be an only child. That I won’t be able to experience pregnancy again. That I won’t have one more baby. I’m afraid that this is a sign that it will forever be just us three.

After picking up The Boy and having dinner of chicken strips and temper tantrums. After pajamas, brushing teeth and watching Poppy Cat and Nina tell Star a sandy story and giving hugs and kisses to every stuffed animal on his bed, I got back on the insurance web site. I eventually found my doctor in their network. For whatever reason the dingbat at customer service couldn’t find him but he was there. I wanted to cry again, only tears of joy. Regardless of cost (yet again) we bravely will move forward with our family. 

I do recognize that I had, what for me is a major melt down over what is essentially a PAP smear appointment. I totally see how that is crazy and yes I worry about adding in dosages of hormones to heightened that.  Yes, I am concerned.  I feel that there is so much pressure this time around.  I'm afraid to tell people that we're gonna maybe try again.  See I can't even say it here.  I've had people tell me that since we've had one it's super easy to do it again.  They don't know shit about my situation, let alone fertility or PCOS.  When it was the first time I guess my feelings and emotions where hardened against the pain of failure.  I didn't know what I was missing so it was easy to brush it off.  This time I know and I want it even worse than before.  Before I could resign that we weren't meant to have a family.  This time I know we can, but can we again?   

Handful of Blessings to Foster Your Own

As I have touched on a time or two, The Husband and I struggled with fertility.  We worked for a year before we got pregnant.  I had a very uneventful pregnancy and in a wild flare of drama at the end we successfully had Levi.  Looking at our lives before and after him, I am repeatedly reminded how luck we are to have this little tornado in our lives. 
While we dealt with our fertility, I took refuge and comfort in an online community of other women diagnosed with PCOS.  I made many friends during our time there who I still keep in contact.  Some went along the pregnancy route along with me and others stayed among the TTC (trying to conceive) to become the AARP of TTC and some jumped to the adoption threads.  How ever their individual stories evolved, I have been blessed to have these very inspirational women along with me on my own path.  While I don't know these women, couldn't pick them out of a line up or know what their voices sound like, we shared very intimate details of an emotional journey.  They were there for me all along the way to share the hurt and disappointment and to tell me in no certain terms that I could get back up and keep going. The best part, when I go back there I am still accepted without question. 
I have one friend who started her fertility journey a little bit before me and announced in November that she was very excitedly expecting twins in June.  Today I found out that she prematurely delivered both boys who died shortly after.  Words will never be able to express the sadness I have for her.  The guilt I have for having successfully gotten pregnant and delivered a healthy baby.  I feel blessed to have him and want to give a handful of that blessing to her. 
We are faced with crappy things every day.  Unemployment, bills, debt, traffic, anxiety, health, bad relationships.  So many things that make it hard to remember that we have really great things, big and small around us.  I don't want my friends to suffer losses big and small so that I can remember all that is good in my life.  So here are some good things I remembered this morning....
1. My husband is a great person who not only gets my humor but laughs out loud. And he would totally go to couples counseling if we needed it.   
2. My hair these days looks awesome the day after washing it
3. I don't work Fridays!
4. Friends are the people who like you for who you are and want to share their life with you. Even if you don't have things in common.
5. Levi brushed his teeth without a fight this morning.  With three different toothbrushes.
Last but not least...